


Yuletide Balls

by maximum_overboner



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Banter, Grinding, Humour, In Time for the Christmas!, Lighthearted, M/M, Romance, Sexual Themes, it's very silly i wouldn't take this too seriously, papyrus and mettaton are ready to jingle together, papyton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 16:36:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8899759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximum_overboner/pseuds/maximum_overboner
Summary: Papyrus and Mettaton decide to get a little cosy to celebrate Christmas, with all the bad flirting and inappropriate shenanigans it brings. Unfortunately, someone else may have perhaps gotten too into the spirit of overindulgence.





	

**Author's Note:**

> ta da! for the christmas collection! it's such a fun idea, thank you again for letting me participate! i hope you don't mind something silly.

Papyrus sipped at his champagne, breathing the smell of pine from the freshly cut tree nestled in the corner of his living room. From it, red and green baubles swayed gently, brand new and polished, and upon its top was a cute little star, golden and reflective. Upon that star was a small, homemade paper cutout of his boyfriend, as he didn’t want Mettaton to feel upstaged. Candles dotted the room, casting soft, weak shadows that tapered off, cut into by the harsh artificial colours of the badly hung Christmas lights. Hoping that he wouldn’t drop Mettaton, Papyrus dipped him with one hand, their romantic night in full swing.

“Are you ready to get jolly?”

“I’M READY TO JOLLY MY FACE CLEAN OFF! AND ALSO, OTHER PLACES.”

Mettaton ran a cool, gloved finger up Papyrus’ sternum, rubbing the fabric of his shirt slowly. Papyrus downed his champagne with the confident air of an urbane lover, bungled it, and coughed loudly as it caught in his mouth before smoothly recovering with only a minor amount of tears. Draping one arm over his shoulder, Mettaton kicked a long, long leg up and was treated to the sight of Papyrus’ wits failing him.

“WHEW! TH-THERE IT IS! YOUR LEGS ARE ALWAYS THERE, AND YET, I’M ALWAYS STILL CAUGHT OFF GUARD WHEN, UM, YOU PRESENT THEM.”

“Was that a pun?”

Papyrus paused, thinking.

“... YES.”

Slowly Mettaton leaned back, until he was posing as a dancer would, long arms stretching to accentuate his chestplate, one heel braced to the ground while the other found their way to Papyrus’ shoulder, leg straightening elegantly as he braced his weight against his sweaty lover.

“THE TANGO IS NOT A FESTIVE DANCE, BUT I WILL ACCEPT THIS ANYWAY.”

Papyrus pressed his now free hand to the small of Mettaton’s back before whipping him up, until their foreheads were touching and the sexual tension was excruciating, locking eyes and pressing into one another. Mettaton glanced up, but something caught his eye.

“Darling?”

“YES, MY BEDAZZLED LOVER?”

“Are you sure that’s mistletoe?”

Papyrus looked up. Hanging above them was a limp piece of lettuce, with two white ‘berries’ dotted on with cheap marker. It was wilted, and partially laminated. Papyrus broke his embrace to pinch his nasal bone and mumble, “FOR GOD’S SAKE...”

“SANS WAS... IN CHARGE OF DECORATING THE HOUSE. I DID THE TREE.”

Mettaton was staring at it, unsure of how to process the odd feelings it gave him.

“It’s hideous.”

“I KNOW.”

“It would have taken less effort to get some mistletoe instead of prettying up that mess.”

“ _I KNOW_. BUT! WE CAN’T LET MY BROTHER’S DECORATING INCOMPETENCE DAMPEN OUR PASSIONS! IT’S THE SEASON FOR ROMANCE! BARRING VALENTINE'S DAY, BUT I HAVE AN ERECTION RIGHT _NOW_ , SO I DON’T WANT TO WAIT.”

Mettaton chuckled coyly, peppering kisses along his neck. “You don’t say,” he murmured in faux-shock.

“I DO! I JUST SAID IT. RIGHT THERE, MERE MOMENTS AGO! BECAUSE CHRISTMAS IS THE TIME... FOR LOVE!! AND MORE PRESSINGLY--”

Papyrus pressed in, wiggling his brows, for effect.

“-- _CLOSENESS!_ I’VE BEEN WATCHING NOTHING BUT HALLMARK CHRISTMAS SPECIALS FOR THE PAST THREE DAYS, SO I’VE NEVER FELT MORE FESTIVE. AND ALSO INCREDIBLY CONCERNED ABOUT MY THEORETICAL SON WATCHING INTERNET PORN. BUT ONE THING AT A TIME.”

Pristine, artificial eyelashes, that fluttered with a drawn out melodrama that only came with being in the spotlight. “I’m more than capable of jingling your bells.”

Trying to recall if that was a sex act that was sailing over his head or a seductive pick up line, Papyrus’ remarkable guile sprung into action.

“JINGLE BELL ROCK, MORE LIKE... LIKE... MORE LIKE JINGLE BELL-- _COCK_ , JINGLE BELL COCK.”

“You tried!”

“I DID, I DID TRY.”

“You failed miserably, but you tried.”

Mettaton was set on proving that anything, no matter how stupid, could be an innuendo if you purred it in the right tone, running his tongue up Papyrus’ vertebrae and leaving a thin trail of cool, synthetic saliva.

“I’ll _flame_ your _Christmas pudding. Whatever that is._ ”

Papyrus was going to explode. He hadn’t even taken off his pants yet, but it was become unbearable.

“I’M READY TO EMPTY MY SACK!!”

“That was repulsive! And creative!”

“THANK YOU!”

Papyrus’ hands dropped to Mettaton’s exquisite, handcrafted ass, using it to leverage his hips as he ground into them with his prominent, slightly dampened bulge, until they were sweating and rutting against each other in unthinking, primal want. All thoughts of civility were out of the window. Mettaton met his movements with expert rhythm.

“THE PLAN WAS TO MAKE SWEET, TENDER, JINGLING LOVE IN FRONT OF AN OPEN FIRE, ON A RUG, BUT ISSUES CAME UP. WE DON’T HAVE A FIREPLACE, AND I COULDN’T GET ONE AT SUCH SHORT NOTICE. ALSO, SETTING A FIRE WITHOUT ONE WOULD KILL US MID-BONING, SO I’M AFRAID I’VE HAD TO RESORT TO STREAMING A VIDEO OF A FIRE ON THE TV AND TURNING THE HEAT UP _REALLY HIGH._ ”

“Darling,” Mettaton breathed, pulling at Papyrus’ shorts and sneaking a glimpse at his cock, not stopping his motions, “a fireplace? Almost as hot as me!”

“THAT’S GOOD,” Papyrus declared, tearing off his shirt, sweating like he was in a desert, “BECAUSE AT THE RATE I’M BURNING THROUGH POWER WE CAN ONLY SUSTAIN THIS FOR THE NEXT FORTY FIVE SECONDS!”

“God, take me darling, _take me!_ ”

“THAT WAS THE PLAN, YES.”

They both collapsed to the floor in an erotic frenzy, biting and pulling and grinding, the culmination of a night's worth of teasing, of hushed little promises and licentious giggles, waiting for the magical moment when Sans ducked out of the house to give them a little space. Yearning, made more potent by waiting, until finally, Papyrus moved to whip out his--

They were both buffeted with cold air, and with remarkable speed Papyrus hid his shame before whipping his head to face the door, on top of Mettaton, knees digging into the carpet. Sans was leaning against the open door, letting the freezing air buffet in and blast out a few of the candles.

“mornin’,” he chirped, drunk out of his mind.

Papyrus was too infuriated to respond with anything but the obvious, as the gears of his mind creaked into motion.

“I-IT’S NINE IN THE EVENING!”

“oh yeah. anyway, s’up nerds. what’s goin’ on-- why is it so hot ‘n here?”

“OH MY GOD, ARE YOU TRYING TO PICKLE YOURSELF? YOU’RE LIKE A BROKEN ARM.”

“funny?”

_“PLASTERED.”_

Papyrus peeled himself off, cunningly angling his pelvis away until his ‘problem’ subsided, as he didn’t want to make the moment worse than it was. Mettaton looked to Sans as if he were a drunken tramp. Papyrus would have discreetly admitted he was not far wrong, on this specific occasion.

“ohh. eggnog's cheap at grillby’s,” he shrugged. “it’d be a shame not to order it.”

“HOW MUCH DID YOU DRINK?”

Sans chuckled coyly, in a way that said ‘more than hoped’. “a lot of 'nog. a _lot_ of 'nog. ‘m more 'nog than man.”

Sans looked to the candles, to Papyrus, to an infuriated Mettaton (who was weighing the pros and cons of violent assault), to Papyrus, to the candles, to Mettaton, and then back to the candles for one last try. His addled mind put the pieces together.

“oh geeze, you two were havin’ a moment, right? say no more, i’ll leave ya to it--”

“WHERE ARE YOU GOING?”

“grillby’s.”

“YOU WILL _NOT_ QUAFF MORE 'NOG!”

Mettaton gave Sans a tight lipped glance as he stumbled out of the door, missed the step, landed face first in the snow and raised his arm.

“happy halloween,” he burbled, before passing out.


End file.
